


A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes

by MsCaptainWinchester (rons_pigwidgeon)



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Cinderella Fusion, Canonical Character Death, Cat Felicia Hardy, Chicken Betty Brant, Cinderella Peter Parker, Dog Ned Leeds, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Forest Meet-Cute, M/M, Male Cinderella, Physical Abuse (Alluded To), Pretty Wade Wilson, Prince Wade Wilson, Screen Reader Friendly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29493561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rons_pigwidgeon/pseuds/MsCaptainWinchester
Summary: This is the Disney Cinderella AU no one asked for. In a faraway kingdom, in a comfortable cottage in a comfortable village, Peter Parker grew up with two wonderful parents who loved him very much. And then those parents died, and he was left to life with his stepmother Liv, and her two terrible children, Jessica and Eugene. His happy home turned into an unhappy life of servitude with no end in sight.An invitation to a Royal Ball reminds Peter of a long-dead wish to see the palace his mother told him stories of, and he becomes determined to attend despite the protests of his miserable family. With the help of his new fairy godmother, a little bit of magic, and a whole lot of hard work, his dreams of visiting the palace and finding his very own Prince Charming will come true. Or will they?**They totally will. What kind of Cinderella story do you think this is?
Relationships: Mary Parker/Richard Parker, Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 15
Kudos: 135
Collections: Spideypool Big Bang - The 2020 Collection





	A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as part of the Spideypool Big Bang 2020. 
> 
> All art below was created by the amazingly talented [CottonClover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CottonClover/pseuds/CottonClover). If you would like to shout about how gorgeous the art is, you can find Cotton on [twitter](https://twitter.com/_CottonRainbow_). You can find them on their own post on Cotton's account [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29519829).
> 
> I would like to thank my beta, [Lo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdsstillsingforyou)! Your feedback was so helpful, especially the fairy/fae/fey research!
> 
> I once again failed to make this story A/B/O. I'm sorry, y'all. Next year. There will be porn and A/B/O again next year. I've already got a plot and everything. Instead we have the fluffiest soft fluff for this year of our pandemic, 2021. See end notes for potential future smut. 
> 
> **Additional Warning:** A cis-gendered character pretends to be genderfluid for personal gain. Yes, she's the worst. No, I do not condone this behavior and neither do the non-terrible characters in this story. Gender identity isn't a costume you can take on and off at will (unless that's how you prefer to approach it, in which case live your best life). This is the same character who cut her own toes off in the original story to fit into a shoe. Reason is not strong with her, nor is a sense of morality.

In a kingdom far from here, in a comfortable cottage on the edge of the village, a boy named Peter lived a wonderful life with the two most wonderful parents a curious child could ask for. Though they were not of great means, they had enough to make a happy life in their little home. Peter spent his days reading and learning about the world from his father while his mother worked at the palace, and his nights listening to stories about the royal family and the splendor of life close to the king. 

"Someday I'll bring you with me, my little spider," his mother told him each night as she cuddled him in her lap, sitting by the fire as they talked about their days.

"What would you show me first?" he asked every night.

"Why, I think I'd show you all the paintings first and tell you the history behind each one. Our country is rich with so much history, but we hide it away at the palace for only the rulers to see." She would push his hair from his face and kiss his forehead and hug him close, and Peter wanted it no other way.

"Don't you know knowledge is only for the rich?" his father would chime in from his chair across from them where he was usually busy reading a book of science to share with Peter the next day. His tone was always teasing, but little Peter never understood his meaning.

"You always tell me knowledge should be for everyone!" he would say, throwing his hands up to encompass the entire world.

Peter's father would laugh and nod his head and lean across the fire to kiss him on the cheek. "As it should be." He never said why it wasn't, and Peter was too young to ask.

* * *

One day Peter was wandering in the woods near his home, looking for interesting spiders to bring home to his father to study, when the quiet of his afternoon was disturbed by the sounds of an animal. He looked up to find a very tall horse with a boy atop it who was not very much older than Peter. He wore fancy clothes and held himself with perfect posture in his seat. Peter himself was far too short to ride a horse by himself, still, but he often dreamed of the day he might grow tall enough to mount their mare and wander the countryside.

"Hello," he said to the older boy.

The boy looked down at Peter from his mount as if Peter had sprouted wings. "Are you a fae creature?" he asked, his voice soft the way one might speak when accepting a surprise second dessert.

"I'm a scientist," Peter told him, straightening his shoulders and puffing his chest out a little. 

The boy pulled back in his seat. "That sounds fake." 

Peter bristled at the superior tone. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Fae sound fake." 

"My mother told me stories of the fae when I was little. She told me they used to live in these woods and lured unsuspecting princes into their circles to keep them forever. Are you going to lure me away?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, but it sounds like nonsense. I'm looking for spiders." He held up the glass jar he'd prepared with sticks and small insects for food.

"Are you going to eat them?"

Peter recoiled at that idea, pulling his jar to his chest. "Why would I eat them? I want to study them."

"Study them for what?"

"All kinds of reasons. To find out what they eat, how they move, what kinds of webs they weave. My father says knowledge can help people live better lives, and I like helping. "

"And you think studying spiders will help people?" His tone was skeptical.

"Maybe not, but it will help me learn the sci-en-tif-ic method, and then I can use _that_ to help people." He was careful sounding out 'scientific', making sure to pronounce every syllable just as his father had taught him. It was a big word and he didn't want to get it wrong.

"My father says the only way I'll be able to help people is by getting married."

That seemed strange. "But you're not very old yet! Who would want to marry you?" Peter asked.

The boy shook his head as if Peter was being very silly. Peter thought he was the silly one, talking of fae and being married when they were barely out of short-pants. "I don't have to get married yet—when I grow up, then I'll get married and help people."

"Well, I don't understand how getting married could help people, but if that's what you have to do." Peter shrugged his little shoulders, not sure what else to say. This fancy boy seemed awfully strange.

The boy leaned an elbow on his horse's mane and rested his chin on his hand, gazing at Peter like he was a perfectly ripe apple. "When I do, I want to marry a beautiful fae like you."

Peter scrunched his nose up at the suggestion. "I already told you I'm not a fae. And even if I was, I only want to marry for love. My mother told me that's the only way."

The boy rolled his eyes and sat up straight. "My mother told me love is for silly dreamers, and I should find a suitable mate and make heirs, as is my duty."

Peter found this a sad way of looking at the world. He cocked his head to the side, peering up at the boy through the mid-afternoon sun. "Is your mother happy?"

The boy shook his head as if it didn't matter. "Not at all. But I'm sure I would be if I was married to someone as pretty as you."

"Well, you'll have to find someone else, because I'm only marrying for love." Peter turned away from him, done with this silly conversation. He had spiders to find and catalog.

* * *

Peter saw the boy several more times over the next few years, but he never grew less strange. And he never stopped calling Peter pretty, which made Peter's tummy feel strange and fluttery and made him uncomfortable. 

And then one day as Cook was bringing in the breakfast trays, Peter's beloved mother slumped in her seat and slid boneless and unconscious to the floor. Peter cried out and scrambled under the table after her, while his father knocked his own chair to the ground to go to her. Cook dropped the heavy tray, upending all the breakfast things onto the floor. 

"Call the doctor!" Peter's father yelled, crouching next to Peter and trying to revive his mother. 

But even as the cook ran to send a messenger for the doctor, it was already too late. Peter's mother had taken her last breath, and there was nothing any doctor could do to bring her back.

* * *

Peter and his father spent the next several months in a fog of grief so thick neither could see through it. Peter rarely left his bedroom, only eating when he was forced to by Cook. His father spent more time in his basement workroom than he did above stairs. 

When his father knocked on his bedroom door on a spring morning far too bright and warm for the cold that had settled in Peter's heart, Peter barely looked up from his book. "Peter, I have something to tell you," his father said, taking the chair next to his in front of his closed curtains. A thin line of sunshine sliced across the rug between them. 

Peter set his book down and gave his father his full attention, aware of the gravity in his tone. "Is everything all right?"

"As right as it can be. Unfortunately, without your—without the income from the palace, I must return to selling my work. There is a gentleman interested in a device I've created to inject medications, but I must bring the device to him for testing before he will do business."

Peter had only ever understood a little of what his father had done for a living prior to his mother's appointment to the palace, but he understood what his father was saying. He would have to leave for a time. He had always travelled for work prior to Peter's birth. "How long will you be gone?" he asked.

"A month, maybe two. Cook will watch over you and make sure you have everything you need. Perhaps you could venture outside now that it's warmer and continue your studies?"

Peter looked at his father for a long moment, examining the new lines to his drawn face, the pale, chalky skin that matched his own. His father had been suffering just as deeply as Peter had been, wallowing away in the depths of the house in a dark pit of loneliness and longing. Perhaps a change of pace would help them both. "Perhaps I will," he said, forcing a smile his heart didn't feel.

* * *

When his father returned home, he was brighter, a little bit more alive, if not back to his former self. Peter himself felt the improvement of time and sunshine, as well. He'd done as suggested and began venturing outside again, though it wasn't the same without a mother to come home to and tell the tales of his adventures. Cook listened, but out of her affection for him and not an interest in the creatures he found, which often caused her to recoil and scream in fright. 

Life moved along, no worse or better than it had been. The color returned to both their cheeks and neither spent as much time indoors, hidden away as they had for the cold months after his mother's death. They spent time together, both of them hunched over a workbench or talking about the books they'd read. His father's stories of the far-off country he'd visited were less lively than his mother's stories, but no less interesting. Peter listened to them with bold images of brightly colored stone and tall ceilings and women dressed as vibrant as peacocks dancing through his head.

Peter's father went on another trip, leaving Peter to his own devices for a full three months. When he returned, he was not alone. An austere woman in bright clothing stepped out of the carriage with his father's assistance, and two children a year and two older than Peter was stepped out at her back. Peter watched them approach the front steps without a glance for him, their eyes trained on the tall tower and the grand front of their lovely home. 

His father greeted him with a warm smile and a hug, pulling him nearly off his feet though he was several years too old for it. "I've missed you so much, my boy," he said into Peter's hair, holding him tight. 

Peter returned the hug just as fiercely, though his eyes trailed to the new arrivals as they pulled away. "I missed you, too, Father. You were gone longer than I expected."

His father looked sheepish as he pulled away, glancing at the woman with a bit of hesitance. "Yes, circumstances kept me away longer than I liked, as I told you in my letters. I hope the surprise I've brought you will make up for it. Peter, I would like to introduce you to Lady Olivia Octavius and her two children, Jessica and Eugene." Richard stepped away from Peter and bowed towards the woman, holding his hand out in invitation for her to approach. 

She slid her hand into Richard's with an obliging smile that didn't meet her eyes and appraised Peter like he was a drafty inn she was being forced to enter. "It’s my pleasure to make your acquaintance. I've heard so much about you, young Peter. Your father speaks very highly of you," she said, measured and polite, if lacking in warmth.

Peter darted a confused look at his father before smiling at her and ducking his head in a bow. "I cannot say the same, unfortunately. Are you a new lodger?" Richard had said in his letters he was considering taking one on as a means of giving Peter company other than their cook.

"A lodger, how quaint." She tittered at him, hiding her amusement behind a gloved hand. 

Richard looked regretfully at Peter. "I should have told you beforehand, but I wanted to give you the news in person so that you wouldn't worry. Olivia and I have decided to marry. She is to be your new stepmother, and Jessica and Eugene your new step-siblings."

The news felt like a punch to his sternum. Peter only kept his feet through sheer force of will. His mother had been in the ground less than a year, and already she had been replaced? Peter opened his mouth, but no response came out. Peter had a thousand questions, but none of them were polite enough to ask in a stranger's company. 

Richard seemed to pick up on his thoughts and turned to Olivia with a smile. "Why don't we show you to your rooms and you can settle in? I'm sure you’re tired from the journey and would like a warm bath to freshen up."

"Of course, a bath would be lovely." 

Richard settled the three of them in the house and met Peter in the drawing room for tea. "I am sorry not to have given you warning before we arrived, but I didn't know how to put the news into a letter."

Peter sat forward in his seat, ignoring his tea. "I don't understand why you've made this decision. Mother hasn't been gone a year. Are you really so in love with this woman? Mother always said falling in true love was rare." 

Richard huffed a sigh. "Your mother had the most romantic notions for a woman so fascinated by history. I'm not in love with Olivia at all, though I hope I will grow to love her. I wanted you to have a mother figure to look after you while I'm away on business. Cook is wonderful, but it isn't her job to be your parent. It isn't good for you to spend so much time alone while I'm gone. I thought you might enjoy having siblings."

Peter remembered the sneers Jessica and Eugene had given him behind their mother's skirts while he was being introduced to them and thought that unlikely, but kept the information to himself. "I've been doing well on my own. I don't want you to marry someone you don't love just for me. Mother wouldn't want it."

"Your mother would want someone to take care of you when she could not. She was right about true love. It's so rare, I'll likely never find it again. Olivia knows this and doesn't mind. She'll be a good mother to you. She dotes on her own children as much as your mother doted on you."

Peter opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a soft knock on the doorway. Both looked up to find Olivia standing in the door to the hall. She hesitated before coming into the room, wringing her hands in worry that once more did not meet her eyes. "I apologize for interrupting, but it appears that Eugene will be sharing a room with Peter? While I'm sure Eugene would not mind, I do not know that it will be particularly comfortable for Peter. Eugene has night terrors and wakes up screaming every night. It makes sharing a room with him rather difficult if one wants any sleep." She looked at Peter with an apologetic expression. 

Peter wasn't sure what to say. The only other bedroom available was in the attic, but he couldn't suggest his new stepbrother sleep there. Even if he objected to his mother being replaced, he knew she would never have approved of him being inconsiderate of a guest. "I suppose I could move my things to the attic. We have no other bedrooms." 

Richard moved to object, but Olivia clapped her hands with delight and beamed at him. "Oh thank you, that is very generous of you, darling. I can see we're going to get along very well. Richard, dear, you wouldn't mind assisting young Peter in moving his things, would you?"

"I don't think—" Richard objected, but Olivia only batted her eyelashes at him and waited. He quickly deflated with a look of regret for Peter. "I suppose if you don't mind, we can move you for the time being. I can clean out my office and turn it into a new bedroom for you when I return from my trip," he promised. 

Peter offered him a forced smile and nodded his agreement. If it meant keeping the peace, he could make compromises. Little did he know just how many compromises he would find himself making in the years to come. 

* * *

Richard never got around to clearing out his office to turn into Peter's new bedroom, though not for lack of trying. His stays at home grew shorter and shorter as Olivia's tastes in fine clothing and expensive food put a strain on their accounts. What little time he spent with them, he spent in the basement working on improvements to his inventions to prepare them for future sales. Peter assisted him when he could, but Olivia and the children had him just as busy with tasks and errands he only obliged in hopes of keeping the peace. He quickly learned that his new siblings were as enamored with the idea of playing with him as he was with them, the two of them spoiled and rude and interested in nothing but themselves. 

On the rare occasion that Peter got to spend time with his father, he cherished every moment. He had no idea how important those stolen moments would come to be in the years ahead.

Two years after his mother's death, a letter arrived at the house informing them of a shipwreck. The ship that was to bring his father home from another foreign country was hit by a white squall and capsized. Only five crew survived, and none of the passengers. Peter's entire world shattered into a million pieces at his feet as he listened to the news. 

When they returned from the funeral, Olivia shoved a cookbook into his hands that was bigger than his head and made shooing motions towards the kitchen. "With your father gone, we'll need to watch the household accounts. I've fired the cook to save money. Use this and have dinner ready for us in one hour," she ordered, barely glancing at him before walking away without waiting for his reply.

Still draped in sadness and unsure what else to do, Peter walked into the kitchen and did as he was told. 

* * *

Bells. Bells were clanging somewhere down the hall, two of them, clanging so loud they sounded like they were screaming. Peter raised his head from the pool of drool on his pillow, smacking his lips to get rid of the rank taste of morning breath. The bells were louder now that he was awake enough to listen. That meant something, didn't it? He frowned at the closed door to his room, tired brain struggling to remember. 

"Fuck!" he yelled, jumping up and out of bed in a flurry of blankets and scrambling for his pants. He shoved his night shirt into them and tugged the laces tight as he ran down the endless stairs to the kitchen and started boiling the water for coffee with one hand while pulling the bell strings with the other to let the three of them know he was awake and working on breakfast. The ringing stopped, but was immediately replaced with the harsh cries of Felicia, curling around his legs and doing her best to trip him in her quest for her own breakfast.

"Let me get everything going, and I'll get you settled, too, I promise," he told her, carefully stepping around her to get a pan ready for the eggs and bacon. She continued to mewl until he set a few spoonfuls of shredded chicken in her crystal dish and refreshed her water. He scrambled the eggs and laid out slices of toast on the griddle before filling Ned's bowl with the remaining scraps of meat from last night's dinner while Ned watched from his bed near the fireplace. Peter gave him a firm scratch behind the ears on the way back to the stove. 

He had three trays laid out with breakfast five minutes later and stacked them on top of each other to carry upstairs. Jessica was at her dressing table, primping for the day without a glance in Peter's direction. "Took you long enough. So lazy on top of being stupid," she muttered, brushing rouge on her cheeks. 

"Good morning to you, too. Sorry this is a little late, but I was having a strange dream, must have kept me up," Peter explained as he looked for a place to set Jessica's tray. There were bottles and pots of rouge and hair pins and bits of ribbon all over her table, leaving no flat space for her breakfast. 

Jessica eyed him in the mirror with a disgusted curl of her lip and went back to applying more rouge than necessary, only to make a face at herself and wiping it off again. "I'm not sure why I'm supposed to care about your dreams. Mother's going to be in a mood all morning thanks to you," she said. 

Peter let her sharp tone breeze right over him as he turned to set the tray on the chest at the foot of her bed instead. "I'm aware. Sorry again," he said, bowing out of the room without another word. 

Eugene was doing push-ups in the middle of his floor when Peter walked in, counting out each one as he did them. He glared up at Peter as he entered, but didn't stop his exercise. "You're late, and you made me lose my place, asshole." 

"You have thirty-two left before you can eat your eggs," Peter told him, ignoring the insult. It wasn't worth getting into a fight with him before either of them had had a chance at coffee. Peter's previous three black eyes could attest. He set the tray on the desk directly on top of a messy pile of papers without looking to see if he'd smashed any and walked out again without another word. 

His stepmother looked furious when Peter slipped into her room, glowering from her bed with her arms crossed over her chest. She was in her dressing gown, which meant she'd already been up and about before climbing back into bed for the drama of acting put-upon by him. "I believe I told you I expect breakfast at 7am sharp," she said.

Peter kept his eyes on the footboard as he approached the bed, his cheeks warming up. Jessica and Eugene's ire was one thing, but Liv was not someone who tolerated being ignored or dismissed. "I know, I'm very sorry. I had a hard time getting to sleep last night, and then I had these very strange dreams, and I just—"

"Do I look like someone interested in excuses, Peter?" 

"No, ma'am," Peter murmured, eyes still lowered. He placed the tray over his stepmother's lap and tried to step back, but Liv gripped onto his wrist. Hard.

"I have allocated quite a few resources to ensuring that you are fed and clothed and educated to the standards your father would have desired. I ask for very little in return. Do not scoff in the face of my generosity. You could just as easily be out on the street tomorrow."

Peter clenched his teeth against his own frustration, but nodded his understanding all the same. "Of course not, ma'am. I won't let it happen again."

"I know you won't. I expect you will find ways to make this up, starting with polishing the drawing room from baseboards to ceiling."

"Yes, ma'am." It would take all day—he would know, he'd done exactly that three weeks ago and the room had seen no use in the interim—but he would do what Liv asked. His parents would have expected nothing less of him.

"Good. Best to get started immediately." She let go of Peter's wrist in favor of the morning paper, and Peter hurried out of the room as quickly and unobtrusively as he could manage. 

* * *

"SQUAWK! SQUAWK!" Peter whipped around from where he had been weeding the vegetable garden to find Felicia attempting to dig her claws into Betty's feathers. Betty flew to the fencepost, squawking the whole way. Felicia stalked after her, unperturbed. 

"Hey now, leave Betty alone. She was just trying to eat her breakfast, the same as you," Peter scolded, getting off his knees to shoo Felicia away. She hissed at him and clawed at his hands, slinking away from him before he could catch her. When he turned back to the fence to reassure Betty, the post was empty. He looked around the yard, but no fluffy spotted chicken. "Betty?" he called, peering over the fence to see if maybe she'd fallen down on the other side. There was nothing but a stray feather. 

Cursing under his breath, he climbed over the fence and headed for the tree line, calling Betty's name. He heard clucking in the distance, but no feathers in sight. "Why do you always have to make everything so difficult, Felicia? Betty was minding her own business. I don't have time for this," he muttered to himself.

A rustling ahead of him caught his attention, and he looked up to find not his favorite chicken, but a horse, and a refined gentleman sitting atop it instead. Something about the stunned expression on his fair face seemed familiar, but Peter couldn't quite place it. "Good morning," the man greeted, adjusting the reins in his hands.

Peter bowed, unsure what a gentleman was doing in the forest so far into the country. "Hello," he said, scanning the area in hopes of finding Betty so he could get away quickly and avoid a long conversation. 

"I was told a long time ago that fae did not live in these woods, but I find I am once again misinformed."

"Fae don't exist," Peter said on impulse, eyes still diverted. He could feel the man’s gaze on him like a hot iron. It made him feel uncomfortably warm.

"And yet here you are."

Peter looked back up at the gentleman, momentarily confused by the familiar sentiment. Perfectly quaffed blond hair, guarded blue eyes, a self-assured set to the unfairly broad shoulders. Fine clothes, well-tailored. "You've grown taller, but no less ridiculous, I see," he said, narrowing his eyes now that he recognized the man.

"You are a fae child," the gentleman cooed, sliding off his horse with a grin and stepping closer. He was at least half a head taller than Peter, the swishy epaulettes of his coat at Peter's eye level. 

Peter rolled his eyes. "Taller and yet still a child, I see. I didn’t think they allowed children to wear such official-looking clothing. It must be because you're attractive." 

His smile only grew more obnoxiously charming as he leaned closer into Peter’s personal space. "I knew you thought so. Will you tell me your name today, or will I have to wait another decade?"

Peter ignored the flirtatious tone. "Have you seen a chicken?" he asked instead, stepping around the gentleman to continue his search for Betty.

"Do chickens frequent this part of the woods? That will make my hunting easier, although I don't know if Father would be pleased with me mounting an Australorp on my wall," the gentleman told him, following after him.

"You do enjoy killing things, don't you? Betty is my chicken, and I won't tolerate you threatening her life." Peter gave him a sharp look over his shoulder without breaking stride. 

The gentleman grinned a charming smile full of perfect, pearly white teeth. Peter had to look away before he said something ridiculous in the face of it. "If I found your lost hen, would you tell me your name, then? Or should I forever be forced to call you the father of Betty, the Lost?"

"She isn't lost. She's just... stubborn. And a bit scared." He caught sight of another few feathers and quickened his stride. "The cat tried to eat her," he explained.

"Smart cat—" The gentleman jumped at Peter's sharp look and waved his hands in front of him. "I meant, how awful. What a naughty cat to do such terrible things to such a sweet chicken. She deserves all the best feed, if you ask me."

Peter didn't reply. He could hear faint clucking now and headed in the direction of the noise. 

"Since you didn't ask, my name is Wade," the gentleman told him, following him on quiet feet.

Peter kept his eyes on the vague trail of chicken feathers. "Lovely to meet you. Please be quiet."

"As you wish, my fae prince."

To Peter's surprise, he did just that. Deeper in the wood, the clucking got louder, but Betty was nowhere to be found. 

"Maybe I should have called her Betty, the Ghost Chicken," Wade whispered from close behind him. Peter darted a look at him with a finger to his lips. 

"You'll scare her. She hides when she thinks she's under attack." He whispered back. He spotted a fluff of brown down between two rocks. He stepped closer cautiously, not wanting to alarm her. 

"Is that her?" Wade asked, far too loud. She squawked and burst from her hidey hole, running in the other direction. Peter chased after her, Wade on his heels. A ludicrous scene followed, two grown men chasing after a flailing chicken until finally Wade darted across the leaf-strewn ground and slapped a hand over Betty's neck, keeping hold of her long enough for Peter to get her in his hands and tuck her into his chest. He cooed at her, trying to calm her, as Wade stood and brushed off his suit.

"That was certainly energetic. I had no idea chickens were so lively. Are you certain you wouldn't prefer to have her stuffed and mounted?" he asked, approaching with a hand outstretched to rub over her back. 

Peter gave him a displeased look. "Positive. Thank you for the assistance, as unconventional as it was. Betty would probably thank you as well if she wasn't trembling." He looked down at his fluffy friend, held close and still yelling. He hadn't noticed just how large Wade's hands were until one stroked down her feathers where the expanse of her back was exposed between Peter's arm and side. His mouth was dry when he looked back up into Wade's very blue eyes. 

"She's very mounting-worthy, but if you insist on keeping her alive, I'm glad I was available to help in re-capturing her. Was a little surprised you couldn't magic her back into your arms, though. Not a very good magical creature, there."

Peter huffed out a laugh and shook his head, but his cheeks had warmed. "You're ridiculous." He glanced away towards the house, chimney smoke barely visible over the trees. "I should get back to work. The garden won't weed itself. Thank you again," he said with a nod of farewell, intending to walk away, but the hand that had been petting Betty took hold of his arm in a loose grip.

"What about my payment?"

Peter frowned. "Payment?"

"Your name. I've given you mine, but I don't know what yours is."

Peter looked away, biting his lip. Names made things complicated. Liv wouldn't like him talking to strangers, and definitely not well-to-do strangers who could serve better as spouse for Jessica or Eugene. There was no point in indulging this. If he told his forest gentleman his name, there was a chance he would show up at their door and then any pretense of interest would die on the vine. He shook his head instead of answering. "I don't believe I agreed to the terms. Good afternoon," he said, pulling away from the hold and walking away in the direction of the house. He could only hope the man wouldn't follow him. 

Thankfully, he did not. When Peter glanced back just before walking out of sight, Wade was looking at him with a perplexed sort of hurt that made Peter's stomach sink. But there was nothing he could do. He took Betty and walked away.

* * *

Wade arrived home with a head full of thoughts of his adorable little woodland fae. Sharp-tongued and so much smarter than Wade, he made Wade's heart pound and his blood sizzle at the chance to talk to him. Their brief encounters from childhood was the only reason Wade still hunted in the forests south of the palace even though the local citizens had long since dwindled the game population to nearly nothing. It had been so long since he’d last seen him that Wade had been considering moving on before today. He never caught any game, and he knew his father would notice if he wasn't so ill. Now he would never go anywhere else.

When he walked into his father's wing, he found Dopinder at his father's writing desk, working on a document his father was dictating. "Make sure the 'All Eligible Young Persons' line is in large letters. We want to make sure Wade has as many options as possible. I won't stand for any more excuses," his father was saying. 

"What am I making excuses for now?" Wade asked, setting his hat on the nearest table and pulling off his gloves. The king turned to him with a frustrated frown. 

"Marriage. I'm not getting any healthier, and I'll not leave this Earth without seeing you betrothed. Unmarried kings make for unstable rulers. You need a partner by your side to relieve the stress."

Wade rolled his eyes. "Yes, you've told me your opinion more times than necessary. I already told you I haven't met anyone I could stand spending the rest of my life with." It was a lie, but his father wouldn't be able to tell. Dopinder kept his eyes firmly attached to whatever he was writing. Wade fully intended to find his beautiful fae and ask for his hand as soon as the crown was on his head, but there was no use telling his father as much. The man was clearly a peasant. His father would never tolerate it.

"Yes, which is precisely why we're holding a ball and inviting every single eligible young person. You'll meet every possible candidate, dance with them, and by the end of the evening, you'll have found your future spouse." The king grinned at him, manic and too excited for Wade's liking.

Wade flopped onto a chair and rubbed at his temples. "I don't want a crown-hunter, Father."

His father threw his hands up, a flurry of papers that looked suspiciously like profiles of potential suitors flying out of them and settling around him like fallen leaves. "The things you focus on baffle me. If they're attractive and capable of holding a conversation that won't embarrass the crown, what does it matter what their motivation is? You needn't even bed them if you'd prefer not to. There are plenty of well-formed young maidens with babies to adopt. When it comes time, find a mistress and legitimize the offspring. That's what I did."

Yes, as Wade had been made well aware. He'd never even been permitted to meet his biological mother, and the queen had never had any interest in raising children. Wade didn't want his own children to have a childhood spent with disinterested governesses, desperate for any sign of affection. He would care for them himself with his husband at his side—if the little minx agreed to his proposal, that was. 

"This is a terrible plan," is what he told his father. 

"When you have a crown on your head, you'll be able to make decisions for yourself. For now, my body may be failing me, but my mind is sharp enough to decide for you. The ball will happen. You will attend. You will meet every young person in attendance. And if there is a god in this universe, one of them will be good enough to meet your incredibly high standards, so I can finally know peace."

Wade smirked at him. "If I have my way, you'll never know peace, old man."

His father gave him a withering look. "You'll be the death of me."

"Cancer will be the death of you. And sooner than later if you keep worrying over whether I have someone to bed or not."

"I should have given the title to Aurelia's spawn," he said, looking up at the ceiling. In the corner, Dopinder coughed.

"Anything else you'd like on the invitation?" he asked, looking hesitant to interrupt their banter.

"Mandatory. Make sure they know it's mandatory for all eligible young people to attend," the king said, pointing at him to emphasize his point.

"And if someone should decide to stay home, will you drag them from their beds and put them in the stocks as punishment? This is so unnecessary," Wade said, getting up to go over and look at the dreaded invitation over Dopinder's shoulder. It was as ostentatious as he expected, Dopinder's perfect calligraphy looping over Wade's name in offensively pretentious curls. Wade would never understand the point of such over-the-top lettering when it made the words almost illegible. 

"Could you make it pink?" he asked. 

"You will not be making it pink. Don't be ridiculous. You aren't a woman," his father said, real chastisement in his voice this time. "Bring it here, let me see it." The king made grabby hands at Dopinder. 

Dopinder glanced up at Wade, shoulders tense. Wade nodded at him in permission. There was no arguing the point. Dopinder got up and handed the paper over. His father read it through, nodded, and handed it back. "Perfect. I want them at the printers and ready to send out by this afternoon. Send servants to every household in the kingdom. I want our swiftest messengers hand-delivering them to our allies. When I say I want everyone who can be there to be there, I mean _everyone_." 

Wade frowned, leaning a hip against the footboard. "Even the peasants?"

His father leveled a serious look at him. "Even the peasants. At this point, I'd be happy if you married an ogre."

The corner of Wade's mouth raised up without his awareness. Perhaps he'd get his forest fae in his father's lifetime, after all. "Very well."

* * *

He was finished dusting the ceiling lights and had already stripped, shaken out, and re-hung the draperies, and was in the process of polishing all the wooden filigree on the baseboards when a knock on the front door resounded through the open doors of the drawing room. He sighed as he surveyed the masses of filigree still left to polish. 

The knock sounded again, sharp and precise. "Fine, I wasn't busy or anything," Peter grumbled to himself as he climbed to his feet. If he let one more knock go by, Liv was likely to drag him out back and have him whipped. He beat at the dust on his trousers as he strode to the front door, but there was no hope of making himself look presentable in his current state.

When he opened the door, the last person he was expecting to find was a footman from the palace standing on the step, but that is precisely what he found. "Hello?" he greeted, immediately regretting opening his mouth for how awkward he sounded.

The footman bowed and held up a small tray that held an elegant, deep red envelope. "Good afternoon. I come bearing an invitation from His Royal Highness, Prince Wade Winston Wilson, to the Royal Ball. Please see that all eligible members of your household attend." 

Peter took the envelope, seeing that "The House of Parker" was embossed with silver ink on the front. "Uh, thank you. I'll give this to my stepmother."

The footman gave another deep bow in acknowledgement and turned on his heel to leave. Peter leaned into the doorway to watch, taking in the grand horses and tall flags of the royal household. It was the most pomp and circumstance he'd witnessed since his parents died. Liv was going to be upset that she missed the show. Peter tucked the letter into the back of his trousers for safekeeping, and went back to his cleaning. He could show Liv the letter later.

* * *

"The rolls were a bit chewy," Jessica told him as she stood from the table, dropping her napkin over her plate without caring how it might stain with grease.

Peter nodded, taking the plate without comment. Something crinkled in his pocket as he bent over Eugene's empty seat for his cutlery, and he suddenly remembered the visitor from earlier. He pulled it from his pocket and held it out, happy that he hadn't managed to wrinkle it too badly. "I nearly forgot. Someone came from the palace this afternoon and dropped off an invitation. He told me to tell you to make sure all eligible members of the household attend, but didn't tell me what we're meant to be eligible for." 

Jessica snatched the envelope out of his hand before Liv could get to it and tore it open. "Marriage, I'm sure. All they talk about at the salon is the prince's prospects. He's expected to choose a spouse before he takes the throne, and the rumor is the king is ill. Not expected to last the year." Jessica's eyes scanned the thick piece of cardstock as she spoke, her expression growing more and more excited as she read. "It's just as I expected, the prince is holding a ball! Next Friday night at 7:00pm. This is my chance to show the prince how worthy I am to be on his arm. I simply must have a new gown. And—"

"Like he's going to pay attention to you when I'm there," Eugene interrupted, stealing the invitation from her to look over himself.

"I didn't think you were interested in men," Peter said, leaning a hip against the table with two plates in his hand. He wasn't going to let himself get too excited, even though the prospect of going to the palace was interesting. His mother had told him so many stories about working there. And perhaps… it was the sort of thing gentleman of a certain caliber went to, wasn’t it? His heart ticked up at the thought.

"I'm not," Eugene snapped, glowering at Peter, "but have you seen my pecks lately? How could he keep his eyes off all this?" He flexed his arm and made his peck dance beneath his tunic like it was something to be proud of. Peter was interested in men, and it turned his stomach. 

"I'm sure the prince is much more interested in curves than bulging muscles. Rumor from the palace says he enjoys a nice round behind." Jessica smoothed a hand over her rear with an appreciative smile at herself.

"Please, have you seen these glutes? I put the squats in and it shows." Eugene turned and squeezed his butt cheeks one at a time. Peter would have done just about anything to never see that again and slowly tried to back out of the room with the dishes in hopes of avoiding further displays.

Olivia took the invitation from Eugene as he flexed and skimmed over it with a keen eye. "Very interesting," she murmured. Her eyes snapped to Peter, nearly out of the room. "You'll need to make a visit to town to order new things from the seamstress. Two new dresses and a new suit." 

"Not two suits?" he asked, testing. The footman had said all eligible members of the household were to attend, and he had no reason to believe he wouldn't be just as welcome as his step-siblings. 

"Why would I order two suits? Eugene can only wear one at a time, silly boy." She paused, tilting her head and pinching her mouth in the way she did when she was feeling particularly cruel. "You weren't imagining that you would be going to the ball, were you?"

"Does Pathetic Peter really think he has a chance with the prince?" Eugene taunted, throwing a mocking grin at Peter.

"Really, what a ludicrous notion. Look at you, covered in grime so thoroughly you'll never scrub it off. Who would ever allow a lowly servant into a royal ball? Don't be ridiculous," Jessica sneered at him.

"I bathe—" Peter protested, but looking down at his hands, he didn't have much more of an argument. They were rough and calloused from hard work, not the hands of someone worthy of royalty.

"What are you going to do, show up in that sad coat you wear to brush the horses?" Eugene asked, at Peter's side now and putting an arm around him to make sure he couldn't walk away from the mocking. Peter pushed the edge of the dirty plates into his ribs in retaliation, but he barely winced.

"I still have one of my father's suits. I can alter it to fit by next Friday night. I don't care about the prince, but my mother used to tell me stories of how beautiful the palace is. I'd like to see the inside and see if it matches her stories. The footman said every eligible household member was required to attend. I'm as eligible as anyone else."

Olivia tapped the invitation against her chin, shrewd stare fixed on Peter. "That you are."

"Mother, you can't be thinking of letting him go—" Jessica said, clutching at her mother's arm with a horrified look.

"I don't see why not. If Peter finishes his chores and manages to find a suitable set of clothes in time for the ball, he may attend." 

Peter had to do a double-take to make sure he heard her right. She never gave in that easily. He usually had to go behind her back and cover his tracks so she didn't find out if he wanted to do something. "Are you serious? Thank you. I'll make sure everything is done, and I look more than presentable in time, I promise." Hope flared in his chest, hope to find a little piece of his mother in those grand halls for maybe the only chance he had left. He tried to fight a grin, but couldn't manage it. 

"You're going to look like a clown no matter what you wear," Eugene whispered in his ear with a vicious twist of the soft skin of the inside of his arm. 

Peter pulled away from him with a final dig of the plates into his ribs. "I should, uh, get on the chores, then, if I'm going to have time to work on Father's suit." He tried to step away into the kitchen, but Liv's voice halted him again.

"Oh but I already told you to go to the tailor. You can clean the dishes when you get back."

Peter turned in the doorway, frowning. "But it's nearly ten. The tailor will surely be going to sleep by now."

"Yes, and other households will be knocking on her door at dawn. Best to make sure she has our order in first. You'll go tonight. Bring the extra tarts you made for dessert as an apology for the late hour." Olivia had already turned away, not giving Peter time to protest further. “I’ll also be needing more night cream before bed. If we’re to meet the royal family, I’ll need to make sure I look my best.” She touched the corner of her eye, looking at herself in the scoop of a silver spoon.

Peter sighed and turned to shuffle the plates into the kitchen before finding his coat. The extra tartes were supposed to be his breakfast. It looked like it was to be bland porridge once again. 

* * *

It was later than even Peter would have liked when he finally got home from the tailor's, grumpy from his visit to town. Needless to say, the tailor had not been pleased to be woken up with a commission so close to midnight, tartes or no tartes. She had threatened to throw them on the ground and nearly refused the commission, complaining that Liv still had a hefty balance from their last visit. Peter had had to promise to bring her pastries for the rest of the month to placate her.

It was another half an hour when he returned before he was able to go upstairs, the night cream Liv demanded he make for her needing extra care and attention so that the spider venom he used in it didn’t poison her instead of freezing her features into place. 

By the time he had delivered the cream and finally returned to his room, he wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep for twelve hours, but he still had work to do if he was going to have any chance of seeing the inside of the palace. He pulled the box out from beneath his bed that held all his worldly treasures and pushed the lid off to the side. His mother's journals lay on top, along with the pressed flower crown and veil she'd worn on their wedding day. He lifted both carefully out and set them aside, along with the documents that made up their life and death and the little money he had managed to squirrel away from selling potions in town. Nestled underneath it all lay his father's suit of clothes, kept as pristine as Peter could manage with his limited resources. He had never had occasion to wear it, but he made sure to air it out and check for signs of critter damage frequently. 

He laid it across his bed, replaced the other items, and tucked the box back underneath. The coat was a dark green with gold embellishments on the lapels, embroidered by his mother in her simple style. The green wasn't as deeply pigmented as it had once been, but it still looked nice enough for his purposes, which was good because he wouldn't have the time or means to re-dye it. The waistcoat was dyed gold to match the embroidery, the breeches a chestnut brown. The stockings were going to need a good bleaching, but Eugene would likely be demanding Peter do the same to his entire drawer of stockings, so that was easily fixed. 

Peter hadn't tried on any of the clothes since he was much younger and missing his father, but he seemed to be the same height now, if quite a bit thinner. He could blame Liv's meager food allowances for that. Thankfully, it wouldn't take much to take in what needed taking in. It was short work to turn it all inside out and finish pinning it to size. He peeled each piece off carefully and set them aside for sewing when he had time, and then finally, blissfully crawled into bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

* * *

Peter was used to hard work—Olivia demanded nothing less from him—but in the days approaching the ball, his workload had tripled. His siblings expected him to tailor all their clothes as if they were planning to wear every piece of clothing they had ever owned to the ball at once, even though both were having new outfits made especially for the event. Liv made him scrub every surface of the house with a fine-toothed comb ‘Just in case the prince follows us home’. Jessica demanded he help her figure out how to wear her hair even though he had very little of it himself and was terrible at styling hers. He was even expected to groom Felicia, even though she clawed his arms up for the attempt and immediately rolled around in the dirty back paddock after he was done just to spite him. 

Despite it all, he was determined to finish the necessary alterations on his father's suit in time for the ball. He knew what his family was trying to do, and he would not let them win. Well past the time the rest of the household had gone to sleep, Peter sat by the light of his stub of candle and sewed each piece to size. The demands of his family meant he was quick with a needle, but it was still far later than he would have liked the night before the ball when he finished. He hung the clothing up with pride, brushing at the soft silk of the waistcoat with reverent fingers, pleased with his work. He might not be worthy of marrying a prince, but there was no way Liv would be able to argue that he didn't look presentable enough to attend the ball. 

* * *

Jessica had not stopped talking about the prince and what his reaction would be to her scandalously low-cut gown since the moment she woke up, and Peter had been forced to listen to the brunt of it while he primped and powdered her, curled her hair to her exacting standards (with only a few small burns to his fingers), and nearly broke his hand pulling her stays tight enough to get her waist small enough for her satisfaction. By the end of it, he couldn't fault how beautiful she looked in her gown, a deep emerald that brought out the auburn in her dark hair. She was sure to turn the prince's head. Peter couldn't imagine marrying someone as vein and petty as she was, but there was no faulting her beauty. 

By the time he'd finished with Jessica and helped Liv with everything she'd asked, the carriage was ready and Peter was scrambling to get up to his room and into his own clothes in time to catch it. He rushed into his room already pulling his tunic over his head. He'd been wearing the stockings and breeches all day, had put them on that morning in preparation so that he would only need to pull on the waistcoat and coat to be ready. 

What he found when he opened the door wasn't the tailored, pressed suit he'd left that morning, but a coat with the sleeves torn at the shoulders and a waistcoat with all but one button torn off. "I tried on that coat of yours just to see if it would look better than mine, but I should have known it would be too small for me with those skinny shoulders of yours. Too bad, too. It didn't look half bad," Eugene said from behind him. Peter thought he might be sick, but turned to look at the shit-eating grin on his stepbrother's face anyway. 

"How could you? That was my father's coat. I've been taking care of it for so many years," he whispered, trying to bite back a sudden rush of tears as he picked up the ruined coat. As frivolous as it probably was, it felt like he was losing his parents all over again touching the torn fabric. The silk had runs deep into the shoulders and sleeves, ruining any chance Peter had of repairing the damage to the point where he could ever wear the coat again.

Eugene shrugged one perfectly tailored silk shoulder. "Shouldn't leave your things lying around if you don't want them touched." 

Peter was vibrating with rage, his fingers trembling against the fabric in his hands. "One night. I just wanted one nice night to be able to see the palace. It's the only thing I've ever asked of any of you. Why couldn't you just let me have one small thing?" 

Jessica's voice yelling up the stairs for them to hurry up broke into their argument. Flash glanced through the open doorway and smirked at Peter. "Because you dared to ask. You're a sniveling, pathetic little orphan beggar boy. You don't deserve scraps off the floor."

He walked away before Peter could respond, calling down the stairs ahead of him that Peter wouldn't be joining them. Every cell of Peter's body was screaming at him to run after Eugene and beat him into the ground, but he knew Eugene would knock him out in one punch, and the last thing he needed was a concussion on top of everything else. 

He slumped onto the floor and buried his face in the ruined coat in his hands, trying not to cry. It was no use. His sobs overcame him like a tidal wave, pressing his chest in and making it impossible to breathe. The weight of every horrible thing his step-family had ever said or done to him washed over him in a rush of anger and heartache. All he had ever tried to do was be a good person, help where it was needed. And all they ever did was use him and call him names and hurt him. He needed to accept the fact that nothing was ever going to change. They were never going to give him an inch of comfort or kindness. He was never going to win.

He sobbed into his father's coat until the silk was soaked through and there were no more tears left for him to cry. When the wracking gasps finally subsided and he'd calmed enough to take a solid, deep breath, he dropped his head back against his bed and stared up at his ceiling for long minutes, trying to decide what to do. He could leave. He _should_ leave. He didn't deserve to be so mistreated. But this was his home, full of his best memories of his parents. If he left it now, where would he even go? No one would ever hire a man for the type of domestic work in his skill-set. Nor would they believe him capable of the job without any references, and Liv would surely refuse to provide him one of those. 

He could sell himself, perhaps. He wasn't terrible to look at, he knew. Eugene wouldn't treat him nearly as poorly if he were ugly. Eugene would never have noticed he existed if he were ugly. It would be hard work, but if it meant getting away from this abuse… 

He froze, disbelieving the path of his thoughts. This was his home. He had worked too hard keeping it clean and maintained to abandon it. And he had no interest in offering himself up to someone he didn't love. His mother's voice whispered in his ear, reminding him that he deserved to be loved. 

He stood, laying the coat out on his bed with the same care and attention he had shown it before it was ruined and turned away from it to go downstairs. He might not be able to convince someone that he had experience as a house servant without references, but head a little money saved and a great deal of knowledge of chemistry, entomology, and arachnology. He could offer up his skills as an apprentice under the apothecary. He had plenty of villagers to act as references and he could bring his potions with him as proof of his skill.

With a plan established, he wound his way down to his father’s workroom and started packing up supplies. 

* * *

The moon was just cresting the trees when he tucked the final carefully sealed vials into the carrying case and closed the lid. He turned his back to wipe down the counters and make sure he hadn’t missed anything. Behind him there was a thump of soft paws on the stone floor, followed by the clatter of glass breaking. He turned quickly back to find the carrying case up-ended, glass and liquid everywhere. Felicia was darting away with all her fur fluffed out in distress. He cursed and chased after her, all his frustration flooding into his voice as he yelled at her for the damage she’d caused.. She hopped over the bottom half of the kitchen door and disappeared, Peter running after her, around to the front of the house.

He threw a rock after her as she darted across the yard, cursing colorfully. When Felicia was out of sight, he fell to his knees on the steps, biting back angry tears. “I’m never going to win against them, am I?” he grumbled to himself, burying his head in his hands.

“Not with that attitude,” a gruff female voice said from behind him. He whipped around to find an elderly woman standing in the middle of the courtyard in a sparkling white dress that shone in the moonlight. She looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t say they had ever met.

“Who are you?”

“Your fairy godmother. You can call me May.” She pushed her sleeves up as she walked closer, eyeing him critically. “Now are you going to spend the whole night moping in the dirt, or are you going to go to the ball? You worked too hard to just give up like this.”

Peter laughed self-deprecatingly, sweeping a hand over his tunic and silk breeches with a pitiful look. “What am I supposed to do, go half-dressed? They’d never let me through the front gate, if I could even walk that far in time to make the last dance.”

“More complaining. Get up and dust yourself off. There’s nothing here that can’t be fixed with a little fairy dust.”

“Fairies aren’t real,” Peter mumbled, the words a stinging reminder of who he wouldn’t be seeing again. 

“Tell that to the pumpkin I just hit with this.” She held up what looked like a stick, painted bright blue and glowing like a beacon. Behind her, one of Peter’s best pumpkins came bumbling out of his garden and onto the front drive, growing bigger and bigger with every roll forward until it was the size of a carriage and rising up on four wheels made of vines. Peter had to rub his eyes to make sure what he was seeing was real. The pumpkin hollowed out as sheen shimmering pale blue glitter enveloped it, a door forming in the side just tall enough for a human to step through. It looked like the most miraculous thing Peter had ever seen in his life.

“Am I having a stress-induced aneurysm? I feel dizzy,” he said, lifting a hand to his spinning head. 

“Does every Parker have to be the most dramatic ninny on the planet? I swear, your father was just as ridiculous about magic.” 

Peter perked up, looking at her with new eyes and a fluttering in his stomach. “You knew my father?”

“I better have. I married his brother.” 

Peter stared at her, trying to process this shocking news. He had an aunt? “You’re my aunt?”

“In another universe, yeah, but Ben died in this universe before you were ever born, so not technically. Hence, the fairy godmother part.” She waved her hand in front of her to indicate the dress, the stick emitting an arc of bright blue sparks into the air as it moved.

“But… I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand what’s going on.” Other universes? His father had talked about his brother when Peter was little, but never mentioned he’d been married.

“No one said you had to understand the process. Now, where are those chickens of yours?” She turned away from him and wandered over to the paddock, waving the stick around until tiny glittering lights trailed behind her like a path. Peter followed, not sure what she was planning for his chickens and still a little dizzy from all the new information. 

Inside the fence, squawking started in the coop as a stream of sparks slipped through the open doorway and encircled each of his roosting chickens, lifting them into the air as they began to panic and flail. May ignored their protests as she directed the sparks to lift the chickens over the fence and to the front drive. Peter watched in amazement as they all began to grow in size, their limbs elongating into horses’ legs and their bodies stretching out until they were set on the pavement as four perfect horses saddled with the finest equipment Peter had ever seen. The sparks lined them up in two neat rows and harnessed the horses to the carriage as they shuffled and huffed and began to calm down. 

Peter still couldn’t believe his eyes, but a quiet part of his brain was whispering in the forest gentleman’s voice, _Magic is real_. Maybe it was time to believe him.

Ned was next, and then Felicia, both of them turning into humans, footman to be more precise. Ned was set down in the driver’s seat, dressed in fine livery, his floppy ears transformed into a floppy-brimmed hat. He had his tongue sticking out as he grinned down at Peter. 

Felicia was more elegant and somehow more resplendent in human form than she was as a cat. She said nothing, but the look of disinterested disdain she levelled at May matched her feline counterpart perfectly. She bowed begrudgingly and pulled the door to the carriage open with a graceful sweep of the arm.

“That’s all set then, and just in time. You must hurry or you’ll miss the best part of the ball,” May told him, waving him towards the carriage with little flurries of sparks. 

Peter started to go, but a glance at his stained tunic gave him pause. “But I…” He pulled at his tunic, unable to form the words to tell her about what Eugene had done to his father’s clothes.

May looked confused momentarily before sighing deeply. “Right, of course, got distracted envisioning Liv’s face when you walk into the ball. Let’s see, what’s going to make you really stand out?” she muttered the last part to herself as she tapped her stick—wand, Peter supposed it must be, if she really was magic, and the giant pumpkin standing as a carriage with Felicia in human form holding the door open made it impossible for him to believe otherwise.

While Peter was still distracted by Felicia batting long, luxurious eyelashes at him as she stood waiting for him to enter the pumpkin carriage, May decided on a plan of action and flicked her wand at him. A wave of magical sparks twirled around him, tingling against his skin like bubbles and lifting him momentarily in the air. 

When he was set gently back on the ground, he felt fresh and clean in a way he hadn’t felt since he was a child. He looked down at himself to find his clothing entirely changed. Gone was the worn tunic and old-fashioned breeches, replaced with starched white linen tucked into new silk breeches and covered in a soft heather gray waistcoat embroidered with delicate silver roses and vines. Overtop was a sparkling silver coat made of plush velvet, the lapels embroidered in a matching white roses and vines pattern glittering with rhinestones. Even his shoes were new and polished to a high shine, the buckles gleaming silver against soft gray leather. Peter hadn’t looked this nice since his parents’ funeral. He stroked a hesitant hand down the coat, marveling at the softness of the fabric under his fingertips. Such finery wasn’t something he was allowed.

“May, this is too much. I’ll stand out. My stepmother will notice me right away.”

May shook her head, flicking her wand over his head once more. “I wouldn’t give Liv the satisfaction. No one will recognize you while you’re at the ball. But you do have to get there first, so if there’s nothing else?” She swept an arm towards the carriage with an impatient look. 

Peter bit his lip, still a little lost in the wonder of it all. Felicia’s eyes had darkened as she looked him over in his new clothes, and that look alone was unnerving enough to bring him back to his senses. The last thing he needed was a cat coming onto him. The gentleman in the forest was enough. He climbed in and sat down on the surprisingly cushiony seat. 

“One more thing before you go,” May said, coming up to the carriage window. “This kind of magic is temporary. It’ll go away at the stroke of midnight, so make sure you’re gone from the palace by then or you’ll be caught.”

“Midnight? That’ll be more than enough time to see all the places my mother talked about. Thank you so much for doing this. I don’t know who you are or where you came from, but this is the kindest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

“You work hard enough to deserve it. And besides, any time I get to shove Liv’s face in something she doesn’t like is well worth the effort. Go and have a wonderful time. And if you happen to catch the eye of the prince? All the better.” She winked at him and knocked on the side of the carriage, sending it on its way. Peter leaned out the window to wave after her, stomach fluttering with nerves.

The palace was lit up like a beacon in the quiet village, the brightest star in a new moon night. Peter’s heart was in his throat as they drove up, beating so fast he might have worried for his health if he could focus on anything but the splendor ahead of him. As they approached the courtyard, he could hear the orchestra playing through the massive windows, open to the cool evening breeze. The fountain in the middle was lit from underneath the water, making it look like a pool enchanting enough to serve as home to a school of mermaids. 

As they rounded to the front steps and the rich red carpet that lined them, Felicia hopped down from her perch outside the door and opened it for him with a bow. Peter nearly tripped stepping down to the ground, eyes trained on the intricate stone pillars and statuary that decorated the palace, the largest structure he had ever seen. He stood on the front steps for far too long trying to take it all in, his mother’s voice in his ear whispering the names of the figures in the statues and their stories. 

A footman approached with his hand out to escort Peter up the stairs, making him blush with the implication that he was important enough to require an escort. “That isn’t necessary, but thank you. I only needed a moment to admire the architecture. I’ve heard so much about the palace, but have never seen it in person.”

The footman bowed in acknowledgement, but said nothing, and Peter wondered if he was allowed as he started up the numerous front steps. The ball was well under way when Peter stepped through the open doors, the floor flooded with couples dancing to the music of a full orchestra. Peter had never seen such luxury in his life, and he took another long moment standing at the top of the staircase to watch. 

Peter’s heartbeat sped up even more and his breath caught in his throat. In the center of the floor dressed in a finest suit adorned with many military insignia and looking like a gorgeous—if incredibly bored—statue, Peter’s gentleman danced with what could only be a princess. The woman was talking to him, trying to garner his interest as if her glittering golden gown wasn’t enough to catch anyone’s eye. Far back in the corner of his mind that kept his deepest secrets Peter had hoped to see his Wade again, but he had never allowed himself to believe such a thing would actually happen. 

As if sensing eyes on him, Wade looked up at the staircase and locked eyes with Peter. He froze in place, completely unaware of his dancing partner bumping into him in surprise. The princess turned to find out what Wade might be looking at and when she caught on Peter, her eyes widened, and then narrowed into a glare just as Wade dropped her hand. 

The entire ball seemed to part for Wade, all eyes zeroing in on him as he crossed the ballroom and ascended the staircase to stop in front of Peter. He bowed in half, holding one hand out to Peter. “I had hoped I would find you here, my beautiful forest fae. Would you honor me with a dance?”

Peter’s heart felt like it might beat right out of his chest, but he managed to murmur, “Were you not already dancing with a beautiful young lady?”

Wade straightened, eyes burning with the kind of heat that threatened to set Peter on fire. “No one is as beautiful as you are. Dance with me?” he asked, hand still outstretched. Peter slid his hand into Wade’s, letting himself be led to the dancefloor as if ensorcelled. Ahead of them, the princess huffed in anger and flounced away through the crowd. Neither of them noticed, too caught up in each other’s eyes. 

“I didn’t think you would be here,” Peter said as Wade’s arm encircled his waist and they began to move together in a waltz. It was only as they began to move and the music struck the air once again that Peter realized the orchestra had stopped. 

Confusion flickered over Wade’s face for a moment, but was quickly replaced by a shining smile. “How could I stay away if there was even a possibility that I might see you again? Will you tell me your name finally?” 

Peter opened his mouth, but the word refused to leave his lips. May’s doing, perhaps? She had told him no one would recognize him for who he was. He shook his head when he was unable to speak the words. “Perhaps if your dancing proves to be superior to your chicken-detective skills.”

“That sounds like a challenge.” Wade’s hand pressed to the small of his back as his other twisted in Peter’s, directing him into an elegant twirl that felt as natural as walking. When he came back into Wade’s arms, he came laughing. 

Before Peter realized it, they were drifting away from the dancefloor. He looked up from the ocean of Wade’s eyes to find they were on the terrace, the music muffled by closed curtains and two guards standing at attention on either side. Wade drew him closer, swaying to the music even as his attention stayed on Peter. “I’ve always joked about you being a magical creature, but seeing you here just when I thought I might never see you again, looking as enchanting as you do, I’m starting to believe I wasn’t far off. Are you a magical creature?” he asked, pressing his forehead to Peter’s. Peter felt his cheeks warm.

“Before tonight, I would have told you that was ridiculous, but I’m not entirely sure now. Perhaps? A little.” 

“Marry me,” Wade whispered, affection like Peter had only seen between his mother and father flaring in Wade’s eyes. 

“I believe I told you I’d only marry for love.”

“Isn’t that what this is?” 

Peter swallowed around the lump in his throat, a violent tsunami of emotions warring in his chest and making it hard to breathe. “Will you show me the portrait gallery?” he asked instead of answering. 

Seeming to sense the war going on inside Peter’s head, Wade nodded towards a far doorway. “Of course, my fae prince, whatever you will is yours.” His arm never left the small of Peter’s back as he guided him across the terrace and through a doorway and a small series of hallways to an enormous corridor filled with the largest pieces of art Peter had ever seen. 

Peter’s breath once more caught in his throat as they entered the room, his hand raising to his mouth as the size of it all overwhelmed him. “I’ve heard so many stories, but I never imagined anything as grand as this,” he said, taking a cautious step into the hall. 

“Heard stories, have you? Have you had other secret rendezvouses in the forest, you minx?” Wade teased, mouth brushing against his ear as he pressed against Peter’s back. 

Peter closed his eyes against the soft touch and shook his head gently. “My mother served as undersecretary to the king when I was a child.”

Peter didn’t see the way Wade pulled his head back in surprise and a flicker of recognition, but he felt the way the hand around him tightened ever so slightly. He ghosted fingertips over Wade’s hand and tucked his own inside it, pulling Wade towards the nearest painting, a massive mural-sized portrait of a king triumphant in battle from many generations before. The scale of it made Peter feel small, but so full of awe for the artist. He turned to Wade with a hopeful look. “Do you know the story of this one?” 

Wade smiled with that same affection that made Peter’s stomach flutter and pulled him close again while he told him of the long-dead king conquering an invading army and saving the northern border from death. He claimed the king had found his future queen in the aftermath, but Peter had a feeling that part was an embellishment. He loved the story anyway.

They had moved from one side of the hall to the other and Wade was in the middle of telling an energetic story of a duel over a beautiful young man’s hand when the sound of the clock tower chiming froze Peter’s blood. _Make sure to leave by midnight or you’ll be caught._ “Is it midnight already?” he asked, panic setting in.

“Time flies when you have such charming company to keep you, doesn’t it?” Wade said, smiling down at Peter like he held the moon.

“I… thank you for such a wonderful time, but I hadn’t meant to stay so late. I must go,” Peter replied, pulling away from Wade with a kiss to his cheek and hurrying towards the door that led back to the back garden. If he went through the palace, he’d never find his way out the front door in time. 

Behind him, he heard Wade call after him and heard his footsteps in pursuit. Peter broke out into a run. It wouldn’t do any good for Wade to still be able to see him when the magic dissipated. Wade’s voice grew louder, but it only made Peter run faster. He burst through the door to the terrace and sped down the winding staircase to the gardens below. 

The last chimes were loud in Peter’s ears as his new shoes hit the paved walkway. He tripped and ran directly into a bush. He tried to extract himself, but the coat snagged and refused to be dislodged. He didn’t think it was a good idea to leave anything behind, but he was already out of time. He pulled his arms out of the coat and kept running. 

Behind him, Wade pulled the coat from the bush, still calling after him, but he was already at the edge of the garden and rounding the corner into a courtyard that led to the front steps. He was in the carriage and directing Ned to rush home even as he could see Felicia’s black fluffy ears begin to emerge from the long silver hair atop her head. 

The carriage fell apart in the middle of the road not far from the cottage, and Peter tumbled out onto the gravel, surrounded by bits of pumpkin and his animals, returned to their own bodies. He sat in the middle of the road for a long minute, trying to catch his breath, his heart still pounding near out of his chest. 

Betty squawked at him, hopping into his lap to peck softly at his dirty tunic. He sighed, petting her feathers absently. The sound of another carriage approaching set him back into motion. He stood, still holding Betty, and quickly scooped up his other chickens. Ned helped by picking up Theresa gently by the neck. Felicia jumped onto Peter’s shoulders, and the lot of them moved to the side of the road just in time to avoid the pounding hooves of the palace knights. Wade must have sent them in pursuit of Peter’s carriage, but little did they know they’d just galloped right over it. Peter was back to his servant attire, which meant they wouldn’t have believed him even if he’d wanted to stop them and tell them the truth. He heaved a sigh and turned towards the cottage in silence. 

As he set the chickens back in their coop, he turned to Ned with a dazed look. “Did that really happen?” he asked, reaching down to pet his faithful old hound. Images of the night floated through his mind, the weightlessness he’d felt in Wade’s strong arms, the look of awe and adoration on his face when he looked at Peter, the lively way he’d told stories of his ancestors’ past battles and scandalous deeds. Peter could have listened to Wade speak until dawn broke on the horizon and never grown tired of it. He sighed to himself, sitting back on his heels and resting his forehead against the coop, thoughts miles away in a palace he would probably never see again. Ned stepped onto his lap and licked his face until the sounds of his family returning sent Peter hurrying back in the house to set tea for them.

The three of them burst through the front door in a flurry of tittering voices and rustling fabrics just as Peter was setting the teapot onto a tray to bring up to them. He could hear their voices from the open kitchen door. “Peter? Where has that boy gotten off to? Come help us with our things,” Liv called down the stairs.

Peter came up with his tray and set it aside to take all their cloaks and jackets and fine hats. “You’ll never believe what a night we’ve had,” Jessica told him, piling her fan on top of their other things with a smile full of malice. 

“Oh? Did you have fun?” Peter asked, head too full of his own night to let the dig touch him.

“I’ve never had so much fun in my life,” she said, flopping down on a chair in the sitting room with a happy sigh. 

“Did you dance with the prince?” Peter asked, pretending to be interested as he set their things on a table near the kitchen door to bring down for dusting and putting away later. Over his shoulder, he caught Liv shooting a resentful look at her daughter. He smiled, remembering his own time dancing with Wade and how furious Liv would be to find out that he had found his own companion when clearly she was dissatisfied with Jessica’s prospects.

“I danced with the prince for a whole hour. It was magical,” Jessica said, clapping her hands together.

“Only an hour? I spent half the night with him. He couldn’t keep his hands off these beauties,” Eugene said, turning to flex his butt muscles at them. 

Peter tried to hide his laugh behind his hand, doubting the truth of it. “Was it as magical as Jessica says it was?” 

Eugene’s pinched face was a delight to see. “He’s okay to look at, for a man. I was right about him not being able to take his eyes off me, obviously. And his shoulders were something to see. I bet he could lift me over his head.”

Strange thing to focus on, but Peter wasn’t going to argue the point. A flash of Wade’s shoulders filling out his suit made him momentarily forget himself. Wade could probably lift Eugene over his head. But he hadn’t seen any sign of the prince to know if he was capable of the same. He made himself blink the image away and smile. “I’m sure it was wonderful. Was the inside of the palace as grand as they say it is? My mother used to tell me such wonderful stories,” Peter continued to ask, hoping to distract from his own distraction. He poured Liv tea without looking at her, but he could feel her eyes on him.

“The palace was gorgeous, but of course there are always areas for improvement. I’m sure when I marry the prince that I’ll be able to add the finishing touches to really make it shine,” Jessica said, fluffing her hair as Peter poured her tea.

“You didn’t tell me the prince had already proposed. Burying the lead a bit there, aren’t we? Congratulations.” He set an extra sugar cup on her tea saucer.

Some of the air let out of Jessica’s sails. “He didn’t exactly, but I’m certain it’s only a matter of time before he shows up on our doorstep dying to marry me,” she said, picking up her teacup without meeting Peter’s eyes. It had been as unsuccessful as Liv’s glare had told him, then. He probably should have been more surprised. 

“I’m sure. Did you meet a lot of interesting people while you were there? I’m sure there were more people there than I’ve ever seen at once,” he said. 

“There were many people there, though I don’t know if your limited experience is much to judge by,” Liv said, cutting him an unimpressed look over her own cup.

“There were so many interesting dresses to look at,” Jessica agreed, nodding over her cup. “There were ladies from other countries with such intricate patterns to their dresses. I think I’ll ask the tailor if she can make one in the Spanish style the next time we’re out.”

“Everyone we met was very impressed with the two of you,” Liv said, nodding towards her two children.

“Except for that stupid mystery prince who showed up out of nowhere and tried to steal the prince for himself,” Eugene said, scowling.

Peter’s heart fluttered, a memory of the look on Wade’s face when he’d walked down the ballroom stairs flooding his senses and make him tingle all over the way he had the first time. “Mystery prince?”

Eugene took one look at him and scoffed. “Prince Wade barely looked at him. Didn’t I already tell you he couldn’t keep his eyes off me?”

 _Prince Wade_. Peter blinked at him, suddenly struck dumb. Surely that wasn’t right… But Eugene’s descriptions fit, and the way the orchestra had stopped when Wade had stopped dancing. And the way Wade had talked of the royal family, like he knew them all personally… He had been so naive. 

Heart in his throat, he didn’t notice when he broke out into a wide grin. He cleared his throat. “Of course, how could I ever question it. I only wish I’d been able to be there to see it.” He felt Liv’s eyes still on him and glanced over to find her watching him with suspicion. Never a good sign. “I should probably let you all get to bed, you must be exhausted,” he said, going over to the pile of clothes and picking them up, hoping to hurry the three of them along. 

“I didn’t think you knew the prince’s name,” Liv said.

Peter stuttered, dropping the fan and crouching with all the other items overwhelming him to retrieve it. Until two minutes ago, he hadn’t realized he did. “My mother worked at the palace. She used to tell me stories of his antics as a child. I’ve only just remembered, talking about the palace. If you don’t need anything else, I’ll take these down for laundering. Good night,” he said, indicating the pile in his arms with his head before turning to the stairs, careful not to run away until he was out of sight. 

* * *

At the palace, the crown prince stood on the steps, the torn coat of his love clutched in his hands. He looked down at the soft velvet as if it held all the answers in the universe, but it remained silent. His knights would find the carriage and bring him back. They had to, Wade assured himself. He lifted the coat to his face and took a deep inhale. The rich, smoky scent of burned leaves and lemon filled his nose and brought him back to the feeling of holding a strong, perfect little body in his arms. 

"The king is looking for you, your highness," Dopender interrupted his thoughts, voice hesitant from behind him. 

Wade turned with a frown. "Tell Father I'm retiring to my room. Alert me the moment my men have returned," he instructed, bypassing his valet and ascending the stairs into the palace without another word, the coat held to his chest like a precious heirloom.

* * *

A night of pacing his room, muttering to himself, and literally beating himself in the head with a fist, then a door, did nothing to make the identity of the mysterious owner of the jacket clearer in Wade’s mind. He could remember every detail of his body, the sound of his laugh, the quick wit of his sharp tongue, the way he made Wade feel like he was on fire and perfectly at home all at once in his arms. But the shape of his face, his name, where Wade knew him from—and he did know him, he could feel it in his bones—any manner of identification eluded him. Early that morning, his Lord Martial knocked on his door to inform him that the carriage had disappeared, seemingly into thin air. Wade had thanked her, then ripped apart the upholstery in his favorite divan as soon as the door closed behind her. 

When dawn finally broke, he barely glanced toward the maid quietly cleaning up the mess of stuffing and shredded fabric before he stalked off to his father’s rooms with the coat clutched in one hand. “As much as I hate to admit when you’re right, the ball succeeded in introducing me to my future husband,” he said in lue of a good morning as he burst through his father’s chamber doors. 

“Please don’t tell me it’s that ephemeral young man you danced with last before so rudely leaving the ballroom. My doctor would not be happy to hear about how many upset fathers whose children you snubbed I had to talk down last night,” his father said, awake himself and sitting up in bed with a round of toast in one hand, hovering over his breakfast tray.

“The very one!” Wade declared, ignoring his father’s put-upon expression. “But there’s a problem. He’s disappeared, and I cannot remember his face to save my life. I’ve spent all night trying to remember who he is, but it’s like my brain was attacked by fairies. Every time I try to think of who he is, I just get buzzing sounds in my head,” he said, stalking over to the bed and flopping onto the foot of it with a pained sigh. “I must find him, Father.”

The king appeared to be far calmer about the situation than Wade. “Is that why you sent half the palace guards off on a wild goose chase in the middle of the night?” he asked, crunching on his toast as he looked at his son as if he wasn’t sure it was wise to give him the crown in the near future.

Wade held up the coat, the jagged snares from the bush dangling above his head as he showed it to his father. “This is all that remains of him. We need to conduct a search, have everyone eligible person try on this coat. I know I’ll recognize him if I see him wear it.” 

The king continued to eat his breakfast, looking the coat over with interest. “Is this a prince?”

“I don’t know.” A small voice in the back of Wade’s head stirred doubt. Something deep within him knew the mysterious man wasn’t of royal blood, though he was important to Wade. He rolled over onto his stomach and got off the bed, planting both hands on the edge of the mattress, leaning over as close to his father as he could get across the massive bed. “It doesn’t matter. He’s my soul mate, and We. Need. To. Find. Him,” he insisted, looking directly into his father’s eyes.

His father stared back with hesitance, but the longer they looked at each other, the more the hesitance melted away. “I don’t know why you’ve set your sights on this one young man when you met hundreds of lovely young people last night, but if you’re insistent, we’ll do everything possible.” 

And so they did.

* * *

The town square was busier than usual, people flitting from one vendor to another, gossiping about the ball. Peter had to dodge through the villagers to keep up with Liv and the siblings, which meant it took him a bit to catch on to what the gossip was saying. “Heard Prince Wade’s been bursting into every door he can find and demanding anyone who looks even a little bit like they could be the mystery prince try on the man’s lost coat,” said a woman to a fruit vendor next to where Liv was examining silk ribbons they almost certainly couldn’t afford.

“Marvin said he stormed into a bakery kitchen yesterday and made the bakers stop rolling dough and try it on,” the fruit vendor replied, handing over a handful of coins to the woman as she deposited apples in her bag.

“The prince is looking for someone?” Peter asked. 

Jessica cut him a look. “Where have you been? There are posters all over the city,” she said.

Peter had seen the posters, but he’d been so busy concentrating on keeping up that he hadn’t been paying attention to what was on them. He peered at the nearest one to find a vague sketch of a young man with brown hair and an indistinct face, wearing Peter’s coat. The coat he’d lost while escaping the palace. He’d thought it disintegrated with the rest of the clothes May had created for him. He blinked up at the poster in confusion. “He doesn’t know who the person is?” he asked. Because despite the coat, there was no way Wade was looking for _him_.

“He ran off without telling the prince his name. Er—I mean, I did. Gotta keep the mystery alive to really hook him, you know? Obviously he couldn’t get my hard body out of his mind,” Eugene insisted, flexing his arm at Peter with a smirk. Peter narrowed his eyes at him, trying to decide if he was serious. And then he grinned when he realized he was.

“But you wore a green suit of clothes with stars embroidered on the lapel. The coat in the posters has roses on it.”

Eugene shoved passed him with a hard elbow and a glare. “Shut up, you filthy bug.”

Peter kept grinning despite the old taunt. “Spiders aren’t insects,” he said, following behind. Eugene muttered about him being a know-it-all for three shops. The insult hadn’t been used for years, which could only mean Eugene was very irritated indeed. Peter hummed under his breath, unaware of the smile creeping over his face. He was more aware of the posters now. The image of the mysterious man grew more vague with each one, as if the prince hadn’t been able to give a good enough description of his face. 

At the butchers, he stood off to the side waiting for whatever orders Liv gave the butcher. “Is this the prince you all told me Prince Wade danced with at the ball? The one you said showed up out of nowhere and took over the prince’s time?” His stomach was beginning to flutter with a suspicion, May’s voice in his ear reminding him she’d make sure no one recognized him while he was at the ball. _Was_ the prince looking for him?

“No one knows. The prince hasn’t given specifics, just gone around making people try the coat on to see if they fit it,” Jessica said. “I’m sure he’ll be by the house soon, and then he’ll see it’s really me he’s looking for.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder with a flutter of her eyes. 

Peter frowned. “But isn’t the prince looking for a man? The posters say he is.”

“Male-presenting,” Jessica corrected, putting emphasis on the second word as she smoothed a hand down her hip. “I’ve always thought of myself as androgynous.” 

Peter had never heard her say anything about being interested in androgyny. He was a little surprised she knew what the word meant, let alone how to pronounce it. “Is that why you’re wearing breeches today?” he asked, because he had been wondering. They were Eugene’s, cinched tight at the waist with an embroidered belt that Peter himself had sewn for her to wear a deep blue gown she’d worn once and declared ugly. He had never seen her show the slightest interest in breeches before. 

“Mind your own business, bug,” she said, glaring as she flounced out of the shop. 

Peter sagged under the paper-wrapped bundle thrust onto his pile of items and had to scramble to catch up with them again. Ahead of him, Eugene mocked Jessica for the breeches. “They look better on me. You don’t have the glutes to fill them out.” 

Jessica pushed him into a wall with a sneer. “You’re too big everywhere to be the mystery prince. Who would want someone so distorted as a spouse?” 

“You’re just jealous I’ve got a dick. Clearly the prince is into it.”

“Eugene! Language!” Liv snapped at him, smacking him over the head. “Highborns don’t use such vulgar language.”

Peter was fairly certain none of them would be considered highborn—Liv’s family had been traders, and her first husband owned a shop—but as he’d never seen much point in breeding distinctions, he kept the thought to himself. The three of them bickered the entire ride home, the siblings jostling the carriage as they pushed each other in anger. Peter clung to the tail board and tuned them out. 

Wade was looking for him. He hadn’t believed it at first, but the coat in the posters had been unmistakably his. Wade likely couldn’t remember who he was because of the spell, but he was looking. Was knocking on every door in the kingdom to find him, apparently. If that were true, it was only a matter of time before he showed up on their doorstep. Would he be able to recognize Peter if Peter tried on the coat again? Maybe the magic would dissipate? Maybe the coat needed to be destroyed first? Peter had no idea how magic worked, and despite asking multiple times, May hadn’t re-appeared. But that was all right. Wade would reach their house soon enough, and even if he didn’t recognize Peter as his mystery prince, perhaps he would recognize him from the forest. Wade had been proposing to him since they were children. 

“Why do you have that stupid look on your face?” Jessica sneered at him, having turned in her seat to look at him with a hand shoved into her brother’s face. 

Peter blinked at her, unsure what she meant. “What look?”

“You look like you’re in love. It’s disgusting.” 

Peter hadn’t realized he had any particular look on his face, but he had been thinking about Wade… “I was just imagining what it would be like to meet the prince,” he said, not even a lie. 

“You’re not meeting him. He’s looking for a beautiful young man. No one in their right mind would ever call you beautiful,” Eugene said, shoving back at his sister.

Peter rolled his eyes and hopped down off the back of the carriage as it came to a halt in the courtyard without replying. It wasn’t worth the effort, not when freedom from his family and a happy life with Wade was so close. He took the packages into the house without a word, holding the door open for all three of them despite his burden. He didn’t catch the suspicious look Liv gave him as she passed. 

While the siblings fought over whether or not Jessica would be allowed to wear Eugene’s favorite gold hose when the prince arrived, Peter separated out the food from the clothing purchases and took the food downstairs to get dinner started, humming to himself, thoughts full of Wade. He didn’t notice Liv’s eyes tracking his every move.

“Are you… humming?” Eugene asked as Peter set a plate in front of him late in the evening.

Peter frowned. “Was I?”

“It sounded like a waltz they played at the ball,” Liv said, watching Peter from the head of the table. 

Peter looked quickly away and shrugged his shoulders. “My mother used to play music she heard at the palace when I was little. All the talk of the palace must have put it back in my head.” It wasn’t a lie exactly. His mother had played music she’d heard at the palace for him, but never any waltzes. She had always said they were too pretentious. She’d preferred the songs played by the servants below stairs. He placed the final plate in front of Jessica and retreated to the kitchen to eat his own dinner. He could feel Liv’s eyes burning into his back the whole way. 

At his little table with his own meal, he hummed quietly to himself. Ned came over to lay his muzzle on Peter’s knee, ears perking up at the sound. “I can’t help it, old boy. He’s looking for me. I don’t know how long it will take him to appear at the house, but it sounds like soon. I can’t stop thinking about it.” He scratched behind Ned’s ear and passed him a nibble off his plate. 

A soft thwump announced Felicia’s arrival on the table. She tried to put her face in his plate, but he quickly moved her to the floor. “No, not tonight. If you’re good, I’ll give you the bits of fat I cut off the roast,” he told her. She gave him an unimpressed look and tried to jump on the table again, but Ned growled at her and she thought better of it. “I’m glad you’re seeing sense. Maybe I’ll bring you with me to the palace, too, if you keep up the good behavior,” he told her, going back to petting Ned’s head. He imagined Felicia flouncing around the halls of the palace and smiled to himself. “I bet she’d do well there, don’t you? A fancy cat for a fancy home. I think Wade likes cats.”

Ned gave him a sorrowful look, big glassy eyes staring up at him. “Oh, of course you’ll be coming. I could never leave any of my animals to…” He frowned, realizing where his thoughts had fallen. If he went with Wade, what happened to his parents’ home? Surely it wouldn’t go to Liv. But what else did he expect? “I’ll have to bring my parents’ things with me, I suppose. Liv will have this place completely renovated and every piece of furniture sold as soon as she manages to find a rich spouse for Eugene or Jessica,” he mused to Ned. 

Unbeknownst to him, Liv stood at the top of the stairs and glared through the crack in the door.

Peter waited until the siblings were in bed and the breakfast preparations were complete before going to bed himself. The stairs up to his attic bed seemed so much easier to climb with thoughts of large hands on the small of his back and teasing smiles glittering in the sunlight. He didn’t hear the lock of the attic door until it was too late. 

He turned and tried the handle, but it didn’t budge. “What’s going on? If this is a prank, you’ll have to make your own breakfast, Eugene,” he called through the door, jangling the handle. 

“If you think you’re going to get in the way of my children’s happiness, you haven’t been paying attention,” came Liv’s voice through the door. “I don’t know how you managed to enchant the prince so thoroughly, but you will stay here until he has come, and when he’s gone away again, we’ll discuss how you will make it up to me for destroying their dreams of marrying royalty.” 

Peter was too shocked to respond, trying the handle weakly as he heard her footsteps walk away from the door. She couldn’t really lock him in the attic until the prince came. How would any of them feed themselves? Would she feed him? Panicking, he looked around the attic, desperate for a solution, a way out. Nothing revealed itself.

Not knowing what else to do, he collapsed against the door and for the first time since his father died, he cried.

* * *

It had been two days with only bread and water appearing just inside the door when he woke in the morning. No matter how long he yelled at the door, no one came to let him out. Felicia occasionally came up to scratch at the door, and Ned slept during the day, he knew, the comfort of his long body pressed along the crack at the bottom of the door the only thing keeping Peter sane. Peter searched his entire room for anything that might help him escape. The only thing he was able to come up with were two hairpins that used to belong to his mother. He’d kept them along with her other things in the keepsake box under his bed. It was a miracle Liv hadn’t tried to take the box yet. The pins weren’t much, but looking down at them sitting on his bed, a plan began to form.

Early that afternoon, Peter heard a knock at the front door echoing through the house and knew at once it was the prince’s entourage, the same short, sharp sounds of a footman as the day the invitation to the ball was dropped off. But unlike the first time, Peter was unable to answer the door, though he desperately wished he could. Instead, he sat at the locked door of his tower room and strained his ears to listen for the sounds of the front door opening and Liv greeting the Prince, his heart pounding in his ears. High in his tower, he could hear nothing further.

* * *

Downstairs, Liv ushered Wade and his footman into the house with all the grace of a tiger on the prowl. “It is an honor to host you in our humble home, your highness. My children are eager to aid you in your search. I’m certain it shall end today in this very house,” she assured him with a deep bow before directing them into the sitting room. 

Wade took one look at Jessica in her frumpy hat and baggy breeches and Eugene with his flashy clothes and impressive biceps and doubted either was the vision of loveliness he was searching for, but he thanked her all the same. “I only require a few moments of your time. These are all the members of your household?” he asked, indicating the room.

“The one’s worthy of—” Eugene started to say, but Mrs. Parker cut him off.

“Yes, your highness. Allow me to introduce my lovely children, Eugene and Jessica.”

Jessica was out of her chair and bowing deeply in the lady’s fashion she was accustomed to in an instant, the hat falling off her head and her long dark hair toppling down her shoulders with it. “It’s wonderful to see you once more, your highness. I had such a wonderful time dancing with you at the ball.”

Wade held the coat out for her with a skeptical look. “Indeed. Apologies, but I do not remember having the pleasure. You were told I am in search of a young gentleman, yes?”

Jessica waved off the word with an affected laugh. “I don’t subscribe to such quaint ideas as gentleman and lady. I prefer to flow between the two as I see fit,” she told him, stepping closer to slip the proffered coat on with a sultry look at him over her shoulder. 

The coat was too wide in the shoulders and too narrow in the bust, fitting her oddly. Wade pulled it off her with a snap of his wrists. “Yes, thank you for your assistance. However, I do not believe you are who I am looking for.” 

“Oh, but I’ve lost quite a bit of weight since the ball, sire. All the stress dealing with your absence and so uncertain as to when I would see you again. If you’ll give me a few weeks to recover my appetite, I assure you it will fit quite well.”

Wade stared at her for an extended moment before turning to Eugene, holding the coat up higher for him. “If you would do me the honor,” he said.

Eugene hopped out of his chair with a flex of his arms, puffing his chest up to make his physique more appealing. “Of course, I’m so happy to see my coat returned to me so quickly, your highness. I’ve been missing your strong arms around me,” he said as he took off his own coat with a flourish and draped it on his chair. He turned his back to Wade to slide his arms into the coat sleeves only to have them stop at the elbows. He tried shoving them further into the sleeves, but was met with resistance. 

“How odd… It must be all the weight lifting I’ve been doing. Just a moment.” Eugene unbuttoned his waistcoat and began to pull off his shirt. Wade tried to pull the coat away from him, but he insisted on trying again shirtless. 

“This isn’t going to work. You aren’t who I’m looking for,” Wade said, holding the coat close to his chest. He would not allow a pompous bastard to ruin the only keepsake he had of his true love. It was terrible enough that the coat no longer smelled of his little fae.

“Oh, your highness, please let him try. I assure you my Eugene would make you a happy husband, if only you give him a chance,” Mrs. Parker insisted, moving to his side and curling a hand around his wrist with a sultry look.

“I’ll rock your world. Have you seen my ass? Perfect for you,” Eugene assured, perking his bottom out for Wade to admire. Wade only clenched his jaw and shook his head.

“Are you certain there’s no one else in the house?” Wade asked, ignoring the comments. Her children weren’t what he was looking for, but something about the house drew him in anyway, a shiver of magic up his spine as soon as he stepped through the doors. There was something here he was missing. Someone he was missing.

“No one,” she said, but something in her eyes gave the prince pause. 

Wade clenched his jaw. “If I find out that you’re lying, I will put you in the stocks.” He turned to his Lord Martial. “Search the house. These three don’t care for themselves. There has to be a servant.” 

As soon as the words left his mouth and the woman’s eyes widened in fear, he knew he was right. The servant was being hidden from him, and he was starting to suspect he knew why.

The guards split down the front hall and began a search while Wade stood in the sitting room and stared down his host. 

“Really, your highness, this isn’t necessary. We dismissed the servants after my husband died to cut our expenses. We take care of the house ourselves.” 

Wade took one look at her soft, clean hands and knew that wasn’t the truth. They had a servant, a young man who wandered into the forest nearby and looked for spiders and lost poultry and rolled his eyes at Wade’s bad jokes while secretly loving them. A young man with soft brown hair and the widest brown eyes, who made Wade’s heart pound. Wade felt it down to his toes. His little fae creature lived here. And he was going to find him.

But when the guards returned, they all shook their heads. “Nothing, sire,” Domino told him. 

Mrs. Parker’s shoulders relaxed, her features settling in relief. Confused and more than a little frustrated, Wade nodded, unsure what else to do. He felt with his whole being that the man was here, but there was nothing he could do if his guards found nothing. “Very well, thank you for your time,” he told the family, turning towards the door, only to stop at the sound of a shout from somewhere in the upper reaches of the house.

* * *

Upstairs, the sound of a handle jangling alerted a cat to her prey. Inside his room, a determined Peter had bent open two of his mother’s pins and was carefully trying to pick the lock. He nearly got it to catch when the handle he had been slowly turning rattled and threw his makeshift lock picks out of place. He cursed under his breath and banged on the door, only to be met with scratching sounds. “Felicia,” he muttered to himself. Of course it was Felicia. She meowed and rattled the door handle again, likely thinking it was a toy. 

Peter slammed his palm on the door, desperation and panic bubbling up in his chest. If Wade left without him, he was never going to leave this house again. He tried shouting, but he knew his tower was far too high to be heard from the sitting room. 

Not sure what else to do, he whistled as loud and high as he could, hoping beyond hope that it was loud enough to summon Ned from wherever he was napping. 

A few moments later, he heard giant paws clambering up the rickety stairs, followed by sharp barking and a hissing yowl. Peter grabbed the lock picks and got to work again, less careful in his haste but more successful. The lock clicked and the door swung open to Felicia swiping sharp claws at Ned’s face while Ned held her to the ground, growling at her just far enough away to be out of the reach of her claws. Peter jumped to his feet and vaulted over the two of them, throwing praise at Ned over his shoulder. 

“WAIT!” he shouted down the stairs as he tumbled down them, tripping and falling down the last few and spilling out into the hallway. “Ow,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing at his bruised shoulder as he climbed back to his feet and hurried down the main staircase. In the front doorway stood Wade with a valet at his back, both of them looking up at him with confusion. Wade’s eyes lit with recognition immediately and his face broke out into the brightest smile.

“I’m sorry I’m late, but I’d like to try on the coat, please,” Peter said as he took the final few steps to the ground floor. Liv was attempting to set him on fire with her stare, Jessica standing at her shoulder with a similar, if less affecting glare. 

“Go back to the kitchen, Parker. No one thinks you’re the lost prince, bug,” Eugene scoffed, trying to push him towards the door to the kitchens. 

The SHINK of metal sliding from a sheath broke the silence that followed. Peter and Eugene turned to find Wade’s rapier pointed at his hand touching Peter, looking sharp enough to slice right through. “Never put your filthy hands on him again.” Wade ordered in a tone that chilled to the core.

Eugene dropped his hands and stepped away with a flash of fear in his eyes. Wade sheathed the rapier once more and stepped closer to Peter. “You left the party early. It was very rude,” he said, all the warmth and affection of the night of the ball in his voice in place of the cold ice he’d sent at Eugene.

Peter shrugged, but he could already feel heat on his cheeks. “I had an appointment with a pumpkin.” 

“You’re going to explain that later, but right now I have a coat I would very much like you to try on.” Wade reached behind him without looking away from Peter’s face, took the coat proffered to him, and held it out for Peter to try on. Peter turned to slip his arms into his torn coat, the soft fabric sliding over him like an old friend, a tingle of magic shivering up his spine. It fit him perfectly. When he turned to smile up at Wade, Wade’s eyes were glittering with tears.

“I thought I’d never find you again,” he whispered, leaning down to press his mouth to Peter’s. Peter let out a soft sound, raising his arms to hold onto Wade’s waist as he kissed back. Heat zipped up his back and with it a tingle of magic. Before he knew what was happening, his clothes had transformed into his full suit of clothes from the ball, coat repaired, clean and pressed and shining in the light of the chandelier. 

They both looked down at him when they pulled away, Wade’s eyes going wide. “You really are made of magic,” he said in a hushed voice.

Peter laughed, smacking him on the shoulder. “I’m not a faerie!” he declared.

Wade’s eyes trailed up his body and back to his face, a mischievous grin blooming. “I’m never going to believe you now, you realize.” He slipped his arms around Peter and pulled him close. 

Peter could feel his cheeks getting warmer. He rested his hands on Wade’s chest, relaxing into his arms. “You’re ridiculous.” 

“That I am. Marry me anyway?”

“I told you I’ll only marry for love,” Peter said, matching his soft tone, his heart in his throat.

“Isn’t that what this is?” Wade said, the smile only widening on his face.

Peter felt tears prick his eyes as he nodded. “I suppose it is.”

Wade swept him up in another kiss that lifted him onto his toes. When he was set back onto his feet, he turned his face away to hide his blush only to spy his stepmother sitting on the bottom step of the stairs with her face in her hands, slumped in defeat. Wade must have followed his gaze because his arm tightened around Peter’s back as he said, “I told you if I found you to be lying to me, I’d put you in the stocks. Do you have a reason I shouldn’t?”

Peter frowned at him. As much as his step-mother had hurt him, no one deserved the cruelty of that punishment. He’d heard what happened to those encased in them before. “It’s alright. She was just doing what she thought was best for her children. I would rather leave her to her own devices.” He left out the part where she would likely drown in her own debts soon enough. 

Wade turned to him with a pinched mouth. “She hid you from me, among unknown other crimes. I cannot let her go unpunished.”

Peter smiled up at him and leaned up on his toes to kiss his cheek. “It doesn’t matter what she did. As long as I’m with you, none of it matters.” 

Wade looked like he wanted to argue, but found the idea of kissing Peter again much more appealing, and did so with vigor until Peter was giggling over the enthusiasm of it. Behind them, someone groaned unhappily, while someone else started to sob. 

When Peter turned to look, he found Eugene with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at the two of them, while Jessica sobbed into his shoulder. “We should probably go,” Wade said into his ear. 

“Can I get my things? Liv sold most of my parents’ things, but I have some keepsakes I’d like to take with me. And… my animals. Can I have a dog and a cat at the palace?”

“And your wayward chicken, if it’ll make you happy. You can have whatever you want, sweetheart.” Wade kissed his nose, so much affection in his face that it made Peter’s heart flutter. He pecked his lips once more and went to collect his things, only noticing as he opened the door to the attic that a guard was following him. 

“Yes?” he asked, turning to look at her. 

“If you’re to be the prince’s betrothed, I’m of assistance,” she said, bowing to him.

“Oh.” Peter hadn’t expected that. He turned to walk up the winding stairs, turning the concept over in his mind. “What’s your name?” he asked as he opened the door. The room was far less clean than he normally allowed it to get, but he’d been too tired from hunger to do much but sleep and pace while he was locked in. He went to the bed and pulled his box out from under it, tidying all of the contents to ensure they didn’t jostle in transit. 

“Domino,” she said as she leaned against the door frame and watched him move about the room, gathering the things he wanted to keep. He wondered if he would be allowed to return to his home once he was married. If not, he wanted to make sure he didn’t miss anything. 

When he was done, he closed the lid and went to pick the box up, but the guard was there and taking it from him before he could even lift it. “Thank you,” he said, not sure what to do with himself with someone else carrying his things. She nodded as if it were nothing and went to wait for him at the door. He took one last look around his lonely attic room, breathed in the musty air one last time to remind himself of the feeling, and followed Domino back down the long stairs to his new life.

There was conversation happening when they re-appeared downstairs. Liv was kneeling in front of the prince, clinging to his ankles while she pleaded. “My whole life is in this kingdom. Please, I cannot start over again. I will know no one, have nothing to recommend me. Without even a title or money, I will be ruined.”

“Madame, I cannot allow you to continue to reside in my kingdom unpunished. My betrothed will not let me put you in the stocks, and yet I cannot stand to live within a hundred miles of you knowing how poorly you’ve treated him.” He was looking down at Liv, but glanced up at the sound of their approach. “What animals are you wanting to take with you? The chickens have been secured, but I’ve been told of a dog, and I distinctly remember you complaining of a cat,” he said to Peter, ignoring Liv at his feet as he held a hand out for Peter to take.

“Felicia will likely be licking her wounds in her basket in the drawing room. Ned likely ran down to hide in the kitchen when he saw the guards.” Wade nodded to two footman waiting at the door and both walked off to follow Peter’s directions. “What’s going on here?”

“I’ve decided that if you won’t let me punish this witch, then it’s best I banish her from the kingdom before she can treat any more of my subjects the way she treated you.”

Something about the idea didn’t sit right with Peter. Liv had been cruel to him, but she had always only been looking out for her children. What lengths might he go to for his own future children? He looked from Liv’s supine figure to Jessica and Eugene huddled together in the doorway to the sitting room, both of them clutching the other’s hands. “Can we not just let them be?”

Wade looked like he wanted to argue, but when Peter looked up into his eyes, they softened instantly and he wrapped a hand over Peter’s own on his arm. “I see a long future of me folding to your every whim, and I don’t think I’m even a little bit upset about it. If you truly wish us to leave them to their own devices without even an apology, then that is what we will do.” 

Peter smiled up at his future husband and leaned up to kiss him softly on the lips. “Thank you. Let me go see if I might help wrangle Ned, and then we can go.” 

This time, Wade followed him. When they left the house minutes later with Ned on a lead at Peter’s side and a basket with a very nervous chicken in Peter’s arms, every single worry of Peter’s life slipped off his shoulders like a feather in the wind. He stepped up into the carriage and his new life with an open heart and his love by his side, and knew all his dreams of happiness and a loving marriage were about to come true.

* * *

The king’s reaction to the news that his son’s mysterious prince was no prince at all had been less than positive. That was until he met Peter, who took one look at his sallow skin and sunken eyes and requested a tincture of herbs and the gland of a little black spider with white dots on the abdomen be administered, insisting that while it would not cure, it would renew the king’s vigor and perhaps return his appetite. The ingredients were delivered, Peter took to the apothecary’s lab with thanks, and within half an hour the king was eating again, some of the color already returning to his cheeks. He had no more objections to the idea of marrying a simple servant after that. And when he discovered that Peter was the young boy his favorite undersecretary spoke of often, his affection for the boy grew exponentially.

With the help of Peter’s tincture and renewed enthusiasm for life, the king was able to preside over their wedding the following month. They stood in front of a room of their people and pledged their love to each other while the entire kingdom looked on. 

“You likely don’t remember, but I told you once when we were but children that I would be happy in marriage if I could marry someone as pretty as you,” Wade said, cradling Peter’s hands in his as he looked down at him with all the love in the world. “I am happy to report that though you initially rebuffed me—more than once, mind—” The crowd tittered and Peter felt his cheeks warm. “I know I will be the happiest man from this day forth, because I am finally marrying the prettiest man in the whole world.” Before Peter could object to being dwindled down to his looks, Wade continued with a knowing smirk. “That you have proven yourself to be as beautiful inside as out, as well as brilliant, hard-working, and kind, is nothing short of a miracle. As are the circumstances that brought you to me. I promise to love you until the day I die, and all the days beyond, my little fae.” He slid the simple gold band onto Peter’s finger without looking away from him.

“I remember your insistence that day, and I also remember telling you I would only marry for love. You have no idea how confoundingly frustrating it is to find that you got your wish.” Wade’s smile widened exponentially, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Peter feigned a glare. “Luckily, I got mine, as well. Magic got us here, but my love for you is what keeps me. I will love you until the day I die, and all the days beyond.” Peter slipped the matching simple band onto Wade’s much larger finger and leaned down to kiss it in promise. When he looked back up, Wade was leaning down to cup his face and kiss him. 

In front of them, the priest huffed out a laugh. “Since we have already commenced with the kissing, I suppose it is best to announce His Royal Highness, Prince Wade Winston Wilson and his new husband, Duke Peter Benjamin Parker Wilson.” The assembly laughed and clapped, but Peter and Wade were in their own world of each other, and only came back to reality with a hand on both their shoulders from the king, reminding them that they had an audience. 

They pulled apart reluctantly and turned to the assembly, Peter smiling sheepishly, Wade throwing their joined hands up into the air with a whoop of triumph that made Peter laugh. Sharing a final quick kiss, together they stepped off the dais and walked down the aisle and into their happily ever after.

**Author's Note:**

> Keep an eye out for a NSFW epilogue in the near future (but not until after posting for the event is finished).
> 
> * * *
> 
> I do not consent to my stories being listed on Goodreads or other book platforms.
> 
> If you want writing updates from me, you can follow me on Twitter [@RonsPigwidgeon](https://twitter.com/RonsPigwidgeon), [Tumblr](https://mscaptainwinchester.tumblr.com/), [NewTumbl](https://mscaptainwinchester.newtumbl.com/), or [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/MsCaptainWinchester).
> 
> And if you'd like to come yell about my main ship, Spideypool, with me, join the 18+ Discord server I co-mod, [Isn't It Bromantic](https://discord.gg/w6UyAn7)!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[ART] A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29519829) by [CottonClover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CottonClover/pseuds/CottonClover)




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